


Questionable Decisions on a Tuesday Afternoon

by sevensilvermagpies



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, This is just... pure fluff, crack adjecent, involving a mullet and a questionable moustache decision, toothrotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensilvermagpies/pseuds/sevensilvermagpies
Summary: Dori: Are you SURE you want it that short? You won’t be able to braid it or anythingOri, fixing his mullet with craft scissors: Tragic I know
Relationships: Dori & Nori & Ori (Tolkien), Fíli/Ori (Tolkien)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Questionable Decisions on a Tuesday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> First there was a discussion about how people dont let the dwarves keep their long hair in modern aus. Then there was a discussion about what hair the dwarves had in my modern au wip. Thus Mullet Ori was borne. Written at about midnight greenwich mean time & unbeta'd.  
> Edit: now edited for spelling and grammer

Ori stared into his own reflection. He had only intended to cut his fringe. Although, he muses as Dori continues making pained noises from the doorway, that’s what people always say.

He has always cut his hair or rather, Dori has always cut his hair in the same longish bowl cut, ever since he was a child and would cry at the sound of clippers too close to his ears. But today, for whatever reason, on the millionth time he’d had to stop to push his fringe of out of his eyes in the space of five minutes something inside him had snapped, and he had stormed out of his room and down to the kitchen to snatch the scissors from the drawer. 

And so here he was. One brother standing horrified in the doorway, the other grinning with delight from where he had sprawled in the bathtub, and a sink full of jagged clumps of ginger-brown hair. A glance in the mirror showed the damage that had been done, hair close cropped over his ears and fringe hacked to barely an inch over his forehead. It didn’t look half bad actually. 

“It certainly looks much better than my first attempt at cutting your hair," Nori smirks, smoothing a hand over his own ridiculous braided fauxhawk. Oh yes. Ori remembers that particular event. Dori’s murderous glare makes it safe to assume he does as well. “But ya look proper grunge now."

“He’s not grunge," Dori protests, “I make sure all his clothes are washed properly."

Nori turns, a mock-offended expression twisting his face, and sends a shampoo bottle flying at the elder’s head, “Oi! You KNOW that’s not what I mean you twat-"

“Anyway,” Dori just sniffs indignantly, “I believe it’s more what the kids are calling an eh-boy style."

“It’s pronounced ‘ee’ boy Dori, and I’m not..." Ori sighs, realising the pointlessness of his protests, and snips at a final lock of hair as his brothers continue to argue in the background. His hazy reflection stares back at him with a frown. Shoving his glasses back on he gets a good look at the results of his impromptu haircut. It’s certainly different, but he likes it. It feels good. Suits his face too, he thinks, running a hand through it to muss it up a bit. And he’s pretty sure mullets are back in fashion now, in some kind of ironic, vintage way. 

“You look very handsome Ori love“ comes a soft voice by his ear, and his eyes meet Dori’s in the mirror as his shoulder gets a reassuring squeeze. Nori’s sharp chin drops onto his other shoulder and digs in, beard tickling, eyes crinkling as he grins.

Yeah. He feels pretty good.

Ori had honestly forgotten about his spur of the moment haircut, til Fili had texted him some nonsense about Kili and a pot plant - or was it a fake pot plant - and 3 chickens, so he had pressed the video chat button without thinking. Or without considering his new ‘do. Which Fili would now see. In full and glorious HD. Fili. Who had probably never gone a day in his life without looking devastatingly handsome and wholly unattainable. 

Oh fuck.

A hand shot out to grab his phone from where it was propped up on his desk, but it was too late, Fili’s face already filling the screen with a grin. But something was different...

“You have a mullet?“

“You braided your moustache?”

“I asked first- you have a MULLET!?”

“You BRAIDED your MOUSTACHE!?” Suspicion crept into Ori’s voice, “was this a dare from Kili?”

The other looked affronted at the suggestion. He huffed and drew back, one hand coming up to wind one side around his finger.

“No! I just... there was this Viking drama mum was watching and I don’t know, I thought it looked fun.” 

“Yeah well it looks stupid.” And it did. It did look stupid. Even when Fili pouts at his remark, the hanging braids only seeming to emphasis the pink of his lips, framing them and drawing Ori’s eye. “It does look stupid...” Ori muttered again, half to himself.

“Yeah well you can talk,” Fili shoots back, still fiddling with the braid self-consciously, “what is this? 1985? HEY KILI GET IN HERE.” 

Somewhere offscreen behind Fili there was a muffled thump and a curse. Ori's hands itched to pull the hood of his hoodie up and over his head, but it was hot and he didn’t think he’d be seeing anyone so he wasn;t wearing one. And now he was left with nowhere to hide.

Onscreen Fili’s bedroom door opens with a crash and Kili tumbles through in a whirlwind of terry towelling.

“I was _in_ the _shower_ you tit - oh hey Ori, nice hair!”

“Hey Kili.” He replied over Fili’s spluttering, “Thanks, it was getting in my face so...”

“Suits you.” He turns to his brother with a grin, “So what was so important you interrupted my me-time? Is this about the plant because-” he looms into the camera as if he can pop his head right through and out the other side, “it wasn’t my fault!”

“It wasn’t about the plant, which _was_ your fucking fault, it’s about,” Fili gestures to Ori through the screen, “this.”

“Oh come on! Ori’s haircut looks great - a much better than the silly little thing on your face.” Kili, still looming into view, misses the brief look of hurt that flashes across his brother’s face. But Ori doesn’t. It’s gone soon enough, replaced with a rueful grin, but it was there and Ori feels a twinge of guilt all of a sudden for needling him so. The words are out of his mouth before they’ve even registered in his brain.

“I think he- it looks very handsome.” And now there’s a smirk growing on Kili’s face as Fili realises what's been said and blushes bright pink. But Ori’s never been one to back down, and anyway there’s no shame in the truth, so he just stares at Fili with an apologetic smile. “It’s a bit weird but you pull it off. Could be one of those old school warriors.”

He gets a shy smile in return, the twin braids rising slightly comically, not that he’d dream of laughing right now. Kili vocally disagrees but Fili elbows him towards the door and he seems to get the hint, smacking the doorframe on his way out.

“So it’s not stupid then.”

“Oh it’s stupid. But it looks good – very Braveheart.”

Fili winks, “I see, you just want to see me in body paint,” and it’s Ori’s turn to blush as he desperately tries to wrestle his thoughts away from just how good royal blue would look on Fili’s skin, the other smirking oblivious from the screen. “Ha! Body paint and a slip of tartan to protect my modesty.”

“Oh - No tartan.” The words escape before he can catch them, and oh for fucks sakes how does Fili keep doing that to him, but Fili just gapes at him from the screen. Ori lets the silence stretch out between them, waiting for something, some reaction. He’s seconds away from just reaching out and hanging up when Fili finds his voice again.

“For you - I could do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence again, grinning at each other bashfully, till somewhere in the depths of Fili’s house Dis’ voice begins to rise.

“I’ve got to go for dinner-” “- I should let you go,” their voices overlap and tangle together; caught in the awkward dance of hanging up, till Fili barks out a short laugh of frustration and yells goodbye – face freezing, mouth half open, in a way that Ori should not find so attractive. It takes the end of call message flashing up on the screen to start Ori out of his thousand yard stare, the conversation looping round in his head.

Before him is his sketchpad, the page half filled with random shapes. Somewhere, he muses vaguely as he flips to a new page, there’s that ink set Nori got him for his birthday. Maybe he could indulge in the image of Fili bedecked in warpaint and tartan.

Maybe sans tartan

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked that.


End file.
